#steadfast sightless 16

[nothoughts-onlywomen]

steadfast sightless - chapter sixteen

Lucas has regrets, and Eleven does too. Lucas reads Max's letter. Mike visits Max to make amends. Lori and Nancy help care for Max in her weakened state. Max hears a new song. El and Max have a difficult discussion, and our friends in Hawkins are left to make a weighty decision.

Lucas couldn’t believe where they’d ended up.

Their efforts to break Max out of the hospital now seemed utterly wasted. And she was even worse than before. Lucas tried to push guilt-ridden thoughts from his mind, tried to silence the inner voice that was repeating: You made her worse. You made her worse. It was hard not to think this as he looked down at her, hearing her labored breathing, seeing the sweat gleam against her pale skin in the muted light, dimmed by the ever-growing dark clouds which now seemed to eclipse the sky in full. Now, when the rumbling happened, Lucas could swear he heard the building groan around them, hear it creak.

Lucas knew that the Upside Down was closing in. The true sky was less visible by the day, replaced by the rumbling hell that would soon eclipse any hope of a world beyond what was to come. The utter bleakness of knowing that the end was near…Lucas didn’t want to succumb to it, but it seemed as if it was cornering them. And he could only stand on a sinking ship for so long before his survival instincts kicked in and he fled to the last safe place. For Lucas, that was at Max’s side. It wasn’t exactly secure in their current circumstances, but if their world was indeed going to end, Lucas wanted to die with Max in his arms. Going together into the night.

The only sliver of hope Lucas was holding onto was that all these wires and tubes and machines might somehow allow her to cling to life. At least long enough for him to kiss her one last time. To hold her against the apocalypse. She now wore an oxygen mask instead of a cannula, with a small notch in it to allow room for her newly reinstated feeding tube. She had the IV in her arm, that was familiar, but Max now had electrodes stuck to her chest, and some thin, colored wires slithered out from under her hospital gown and trailed toward a slowly beeping machine.

Lucas could hardly stand to look at her. He wanted to run far away, to wipe this image of broken, dying Max from his mind, but he wanted to take her with him. As if enveloping her in his arms would keep her from slipping through them.

“Lucas.”

He started, turning around. It was El, and she shrunk back at his reaction.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Lucas shook his head, rubbing his eyes.

“It’s okay. In fact, let’s go outside. I…I need some air.”

Without waiting for her response, Lucas brushed past El, making a beeline for the door. He heard her quiet footsteps behind him as he swept right past the chairs outside of Max’s room. The hospital’s four walls were starting to close in on him, and he could barely breathe within their confines. It was only when they were through the sliding doors and on the gray pavement that Lucas felt his lungs expand.

He sat on the grass, his head in his hands. He took his first deep breath in several hours and regretted it at once; the smell of the air was stale, almost foul, like rotting wood. The rumbling clouds almost completely engulfed the sky. The air was cold and cruel. And still, out here was preferable to Max’s hospital room right now.

He felt El sit down next to him, felt her hand on his arm.

“I thought she might be awake,” she admitted.

Lucas chuckled sadly. “She’s not awake much these days.”

It wasn’t until Lucas looked at El before he saw the dark circles under her wet eyes. Her mop of curly hair was unkempt, slightly mussed. Her dark blue jacket was zipped up snug, and she pulled it a little closer around her in the chilly air.

“She is getting weaker.”

Somehow hearing it said aloud made the horrible truth more immediate. Lucas looked at her.

“We have to do something, El. I can’t watch her die again.”

El wiped her eyes, nodding resolutely.

“I think…” She swallowed. “You were right about how to help her. Visiting her memories, and helping her survive them. But I also think when we go into her memories, it has hurt her mind too.”

“Do we even know if this is the way to help her anymore?” Lucas questioned miserably. “It doesn’t seem to have done a lot of good.”

El’s expression solidified.

“It is the way.”

“But how do we know?”

El met his gaze.

“The night you and Will stayed with us. She saw Billy at Starcourt and got scared.”

Lucas hadn’t really pressed El or Max for further details of that night, but knowing they had seen Starcourt was indication enough that the mere sight of the mall was triggering to Max. He hadn’t, until now, realized that Billy had actually made an appearance. It made sense, though.

“She was on the ground, curled up, screaming. I was holding her, and she said she heard your heartbeat. She heard mine…and she heard yours.”

Lucas frowned, both mollified and confused.

“She heard my heartbeat?”

“Max was sure it was yours. That was how we knew it was helping her make a connection. And it wasn’t just that. This last time, when she woke up…I could see it in her eyes. She was confused, and she didn’t know where she was because she couldn’t see. I think the Max from the void was in there for a moment.”

Lucas was still slightly rattled from that day. The image of Max’s wide milky eyes, her white face covered in blood, her jerky attempts at getting away from him…he would never forget it. In the moment, he had been so staggered by Max’s extreme reaction that he hadn’t been considering its cause. But it would explain her sudden hysteria.

“But then,” El explained. “She went back there again. And she was different when she woke up.”

“You looked different too,” Lucas told her, and she frowned. “That day, when that happened…you had a look on your face. Like you’d seen someone do that before.”

El sighed.

“I have.”

She took another breath, as if steeling herself.

“Not Max,” she whispered. “Mama.”

Lucas watched her. She had vaguely mentioned seeing her mother in the months after her return to Hawkins, but had always seemed hesitant to divulge further details. It now made sense why.

“When I found Mama, she was doing that. Sitting in a chair. Staring at TV. Saying the same words, over and over.”

The longing in El’s expression wasn’t lost on him.

“Did she know you were there?”

El nodded.

“She could not talk to me. But she knew. Mama has a mind like me.”

Lucas decided he didn’t want to entertain the possibility that Max’s mind could have fallen prey to the same phenomenon. She seemed to have escaped it for now, as she could still respond to them. But its implications for the next dive into the void had become all the more daunting.

“This isn’t like your mom,” he tried to bolster her. “Max is still here with us.”

El shrugged, her expression bleak. “Until we hurt her again.”

“We had no choice, El. It was going to hurt her either way.”

El’s face tightened, but she nodded.

“Which memories of hers have you seen?” Lucas inquired, suddenly curious. ‘You don’t have to give me details.”

“A few of them were…sad. She has been very lonely. But in her Hawkins memories – memories with us – she is happy. She is smiling, laughing, and not lonely anymore.”

El’s sorrowful smile mirrored Lucas’ feelings. The thought of Max happy…it seemed so far away now.

Eleven’s brows furrowed.

“After the last memories we saw, something has changed.”

“How do you mean?”

“I have gone to visit her once or twice. Her memories come in pieces now. Sometimes I hear her mother’s voice, I see palm trees, I feel boards beneath my feet. But they are all disconnected. Nothing goes together. Nothing makes sense. And Max…she looks like she is in pain.”

Lucas tried to quell the familiar foreboding that was once again stirring in the pit of his stomach.

“So…you think we’re close to bringing her back?”

“We have to be. But I need your help.”

He nodded vigorously. “Anything.”

El reached out and squeezed his hand. 

“There is a memory. It happened a while ago. You and Max were sitting on a van roof. At nighttime.”

Lucas brought the memory forth in his mind. He knew exactly which one El was referring to. It had been the first time he’d seen Max let down her walls a little bit.

“Think of it,” El said from next to him. “And I will join you in there.”

“You’ll…join me?”

El shook her head. “I will explain later.”

Lucas closed his eyes, and let the memory wash over him in his mind’s eye. That dark, cloudy night, where he himself had sat on the roof of that rickety old bus, looking for Dart through the shifting fog. Soon, Lucas could smell the damp air, could feel the metal bus roof beneath him. He opened his eyes, and he now sat on the broken-down bus, the shadows of the gloomy junkyard leering in the distance. Once he’d gotten his bearings, he watched the younger version of himself stare through the fog with binoculars.

It was a strange experience, watching himself in his youth. Not that he wasn’t still young. In the measure of years, anyway. He felt much older now.

Lucas felt El sit down quietly next to him, and he turned towards her.

“Why are we in this memory?”

El was watching younger Lucas intently. “During this memory, something happened. Something strange.”

“What do you mean?” Lucas frowned, but El shook her head, pointing at the scene in front of them. Lucas felt a lump rise in his throat as a familiar scruffy mane of red hair emerged from the door in the roof. Max’s younger self climbed off the ladder, sitting next to younger Lucas.

As the two began quiet conversation, Lucas couldn’t tear his eyes off younger Max. She was as beautiful and vulnerable as she ever was, her face quiet, her eyes guarded. Even her posture seemed drawn in, wary, unsure. The longer they spoke, however, Lucas watched the tension in her face start to ease, her stiff shoulders start to slacken. Younger Max’s face grew sorrowful as she discussed California, her dad, and, inevitably, Billy. Lucas recognized her now melancholy expression, her eyes glassy with tears as she confessed the pain she had endured. This mask of despair she now held was more reminiscent of Max a year ago – any joy she’d once gained snuffed out like a candle in an arctic storm, leaving bleak emptiness in its wake.

Younger Max’s morose expression suddenly tightened. “I know…I can be a jerk like him sometimes. But I do not want to be like him. Ever. I guess…I’m angry too, and…I’m sorry.”

Lucas was reminded of the genuine fear and remorse in her eyes at this notion as it flashed upon her face. Silence sat between them as his younger self processed this. After several moments, Max withdrew again, wiping her eyes, laughing dismissively.

“Jesus, what’s wrong with me?”

Younger Lucas straightened up, leaning in toward her.

“Hey,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re nothing like your brother, okay? You’re cool, and different. And you’re super smart.”

Younger Max’s mouth started to curl up in a smile.

“And you’re like totally tubular.”

Max laughed, and Lucas felt a surge of emotion at the sound. “Nobody actually says that, you know.”

“Well, I do now.”

Max’s teasing grin widened. “And it makes you sound really cool.”

Lucas felt a deep anguish weigh heavy in his soul. It was an excruciating burden to know what awaited this version of Max, and he wished with all his heart he could break into the memory to shield her from it. Even her reminiscent snarky smile, the one he had rarely seen then – and certainly never saw now – made his arms ache for her.

“I like talking with you, Mad Max,” Lucas heard his younger self say, and younger Max replied, “I like talking with you, stalker.”

Lucas was broken out of his focus by El, who was tugging on his sleeve.

“Let’s go back.”

He fought to tear his eyes away from younger Max. It felt like years since he’d seen her so whole. And those eyes, her eyes that were now soft and warm and open…no matter where they ended up, he would never see those eyes again. Not how they were before.

After several more seconds of trying to encapsulate this image of Max in his mind – a slightly happier, certainly healthier, and blissfully unaware Max – Lucas finally allowed himself to be led away by El. He shook his head a little, opening his eyes. The gray pavement and withering grass outside the hospital slowly filled his vision, accompanied by the dark black and red clouds that ate up the sky.

El was wiping her nose next to him, and Lucas turned toward her.

“Are you going to tell me what we just did? And why?”

Her expression was urgent. “When Max and I saw that memory, it was different. Something strange happened. The colors got brighter. There was a high noise, like a scream. And then you said: ‘you’ll end up just like him’ to Max.”

Lucas shook his head, horrified.

“No, I didn’t say that. I would never. I would never.”

“I think Vecna is messing up Max’s memories,” said El, looking reassured at his insistence. “Because that memory in your mind – nothing strange happened. It was a normal memory. But for her – he wants to make her believe her happy memories are bad ones, and her bad memories are worse. So she has nothing left to hope for.”

He uses my memories against me. Lucas remembered that Max had warned him of this. He had always assumed this to mean that Vecna simply reminded her of her darkest memories, on a loop in her mind. But now that Lucas thought about it, warping Max’s good memories – in addition to constantly presenting her with bad ones – would be just as effective, if not more. Leading her to believe she had no good memories at all. It seemed like the kind of twisted thing Vecna would do.

“You think he would still try to do that?” Lucas asked half-heartedly, well aware of his question’s absurdity. “Even now, with so much else going on?”

“Especially now,” El replied urgently, and Lucas was surprised to see tears in her eyes. “Because…I’m scared Max will not want to live.”

Both anger and anxiety spiked sharply within him at these words.

“Why wouldn’t she?”

El pursed her lips tightly.

“Like I just told you. When she came out of her memory and was scared, I think it was the Max in the void. That Max doesn’t know about her eyes. The next time I go in there, I have to tell her.”

It was the same conundrum that Lucas had found himself in weeks earlier. The need to speak the truth, to unseat the terrible burden within, and to be fearful of its bloody, tattered aftermath. All this was reflected in El’s expression, along with the gnawing regret of making things worse for Max. Lucas understood. He was being dragged through the same hell.

“She should know,” he said finally.

El’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“I am afraid it will kill her.”

He felt any disingenuous reply leave him. No comfort seemed attainable now. Especially not for this. Out of this sprang a fresh, seething hatred for Vecna. Because this could be the nail in the coffin. Max was already struggling, growing weaker, and to be hit while she was down…it was as good as killing her. And Lucas didn’t know if her will to live, albeit already flimsy, would survive it.

El was quiet for several moments. When Lucas looked up at her again, she was giving him a strange look.

“What?”

She smiled sadly.

“When Vecna…” Eleven swallowed. “When her heart stopped. She was thinking of you.”

Lucas frowned.

“How do you know that?”

El closed her eyes.

“When Max walked through that house, she was scared. She didn’t know if she could do it. The only reason she could keep going was because you were there beside her.”

Lucas could picture it in his mind’s eye: Max carrying the blue lantern, stepping slowly and quietly, her blue eyes large in the dark. Eyes that flitted toward him every few minutes as he crept in behind her. El continued, as if also mentally reliving the scene.

“You were there when she talked to Vecna. You being there made her strong.”

Lucas felt emotion rise into his throat as she continued, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Max does not say what she feels sometimes. But I know you are important to her. And everyone else knows, too.”

Bizarrely, Lucas found it in himself to chuckle. He had made no secret of his feelings for Max, and he would openly admit his affection to anyone who asked. But Max…she never wanted anyone to know how much she cared. Even though he knew she did. And apparently, everyone else did too.

“She cares so much,” he said, willing the surge of sorrow within him to die down. “So much it hurts her.”

El nodded, squeezing his shoulder.

“I know.”

Lucas’ steps felt heavier than usual.

Once Eleven had bid him farewell, he trudged back to Max’s room. Back to their holding cell.

It was a small blessing that Max looked peaceful. Her breath still wheezed, her skin still glistened with sweat, but she didn’t look pained. She lay on her side, facing him. Lucas watched the fog of her breath fill the mask, in and out. Her heart monitor was beeping steadily, a tense regimen. One that Lucas almost always expected to go south at any moment. Especially nowadays.

He wondered, not for the first time, how aware she was. Did she have any conception of what was happening within and around her? As he’d said to El, Max spent much of her time asleep lately. And when she was awake, she didn’t talk much. Her cloudy eyes would swivel, and she would croak a few words here and there: a name, a request, a response. So Lucas had to assume she had some awareness. But it was impossible to know how much. As he pulled the chair up closer to her, Lucas rested his hand on her head, his thumb gently caressing her temple. He hoped she knew he still loved her. And that he was here, still.

She was thinking of you.

Lucas remembered the look in her eyes as she’d handed them her letters all those months ago. The look in her eyes as they reluctantly met his. Before flitting away self-consciously, as if embarrassed to take up space. Vecna’s threat of death had been looming, yes, but had she had a premonition about her death? Surely she couldn’t have known she’d escape death twice, though admittedly that second time had been far more precarious than the first.

Lucas knew she’d been scared, though. Despite her best efforts not to show it. He remembered stopping her in the cemetery, pleading with her to just talk. Just talk to them.

I don’t want a letter. I don’t need a letter. Just talk to me.

We’re right here.

I’m right here.

Lucas suddenly remembered.

Max’s letter.

He immediately turned in his chair, flinging open his bag, digging through it. He had to have it still…he’d kept it safe all this time…

He finally unearthed from a middle pocket that brown envelope, slightly bent from being transferred around. Lucas’ heart ached as he looked at the name on the front: Lucas. In Max’s handwriting.

He felt suddenly hesitant to open it. Max had established it as a failsafe. For after. If things don’t work out. But, he reasoned miserably, things did seem to be going that direction. And he was lonely for her voice – the way she had been, the way he knew her. Lucas wasn’t sure he could resist the temptation now that it was grasped in his hands.

Internally begging Max to forgive him, he broke the seal and pulled out the letter.

Lucas –

I’ve started and restarted this letter so many times. Being on death’s doorstep is distracting, as you can probably tell, and I’ve also been up all night. Writing everything I want to say. Everything that I need to say. And so, instead of rewriting this letter, again, for the millionth time, I’ll just keep going with this one.

I don’t really have words to describe what you are to me. What you’ve been to me. People look past me, or look down at me. You look right through me, and somehow, whatever you see doesn’t faze you. Even though I’m hard to love. I always have been. But you make it seem effortless. I’m not sure I’ll ever know what you see in me, but whatever it is, thank you.

I guess that’s what I’m really trying to say. Thank you. For loving me. I don’t know if I deserve it, but thank you for doing it anyway. When I got to Hawkins, I hadn’t planned on finding any friends. I hadn’t planned on you. I don’t think I know how to love, or at least love people well enough for it to matter.

But with you, this feeling that I have…if it’s not love, it’s pretty damn close.

Mad Max

Teardrops dotted the thin paper. With shaking hands, Lucas folded up the note and pressed it to his chest as he felt it start to separate, felt her words start to re-lacerate his barely healed heart. More than ever he wished he could reach back across time to take her hand. And if Lucas had known then where they would end up, he would never have let her go.

Lucas’ weeping seized him so intensely that he leaned forward, his forehead against the cold floor. Tears and snot ran down his upper lip and smeared on the linoleum. He was clutching Max’s letter so hard that he heard it crumpling slightly in his tightly closed hands. Gripping what was left of her.

There was a quiet knock on the door, followed by the metal’s creaking as it opened.

“Lucas, we’re here to – ”

Will’s voice stopped abruptly, presumably at the sight of Lucas sobbing on the floor.

Lucas couldn’t bring himself to look at Will. But, as he soon discovered, he didn’t have to. He heard Will’s footsteps approach, felt Will’s arms surround him. Other arms soon enveloped them. It was only when he looked up that he noticed Mike and Dustin embracing him as well, sitting solemnly with him.

Even though he perhaps had the most to lose if Max died, Lucas knew they were all grieving along with him. That alone broke the space open to vulnerability, and he allowed his sobs to rack him harder. He felt his friends touch his back, his shoulders, rubbing slowly, patting.

Only once Lucas sat dazedly on the hospital room floor, in the arms of his friends, did he finally run out of tears.

Max’s head felt as if it were wrapped in gauze.

It was weak enough that she couldn’t lift it. Nor her arms or legs. Max was grateful not to be laying supine. Whomever of her nurses were left seemed to have collectively realized that Max no longer had the strength to sit up, and therefore kept her at an angle all the time. Not that she could see differently either way – or at all – but lying flat all the time couldn’t be good for her. Though Max didn’t know how much good any of this was doing for her anymore.

Sure, her heart was still beating, but to what end? She was little more than a lump of flesh at this point. An empty vessel with a tattered sail. Max wondered if this was what true emptiness felt like. It wasn’t as pleasant as she was led to believe. Numbness, strangely, was uncomfortable. And unfortunately, it didn’t seem to translate physically. When Max tried to move, her muscles tightened painfully, her bones scraping against each other. She felt like her blood had been drained from her body, any trace of fluid gone. Dry as a bone in the desert. Max’s own breathing frightened her; hoarse and faint, like her lungs were full of dust. She willed herself to keep taking breaths.

Something of note had happened within the last day or so, but the memories wouldn’t form in her mind properly. She’d been in Lucas’ arms. She remembered that. But the rest was extremely foggy. The smell of cigarettes surfaced sluggishly in Max’s mind, along with the sensation of a threadbare blanket. And blood. There had been a lot of blood. She still tasted it, in fact.

Max heard a gentle knock on the door, and it creaked open nearby.

“Max?” It was Mike’s voice.

Max tried to make a noise in response, but her vocal cords were arid, mottled roots, snaking up from within, with no soil to fortify her. After a few minutes, she heard Mike’s footsteps.

“Max, are you okay?”

Max managed to finally croak “Mike” into her oxygen mask just as his steps drew up close to the bed. Max heard him give a shaky little sigh. That was the default response from most of them nowadays.

“I’m here to keep you company,” Mike murmured hesitantly.

Max gave a small jerk of her head, and she heard the chair legs drag across the linoleum as Mike sat next to her. Max let her eyes stray toward the sound of his voice as he spoke again.

“I, um…this is…”

He cleared his throat, starting again.

“Max. I’m sorry.”

Max’s brows furrowed slightly. Sorry? Had Mike done something?

“The other night…I was the one who told Lucas we had to get you out of here. So you could start getting better. You’ve been here so long, and we were all going out of our minds watching you waste away in here. I thought maybe if we got you to a safe place, away from all this death and disease…maybe it would change things.”

Could that be the nagging memory at the back of her mind? Max wondered if this was why she was remembering different smells, different sensations.

“Lucas didn’t want to do it, and I put the idea in his head. So we tried to move you. It was a stupid idea, obviously…”

Max could swear she heard Mike’s voice start to tremble.

“It’s my fault, Max. It’s my fault you got worse, I…”

Max gave a soft hum, reaching her hand up slightly toward him. She felt his hand meet hers, squeezing it lightly. She couldn’t shake her head, so she squeezed back, as hard as she could.

Mike gave a watery sigh, and she knew he was crying.

“Lucas said Vecna uses your memories against you. And, well, I know I haven’t always been the best – ”

Max squeezed his hand again.

“N-no,” she mumbled through her mask, though it came out whisper-quiet. Mike apologizing was an unexpected kindness, especially from him…but she barely had enough energy to breathe, let alone speak. All Max could do was clench his hand in hers with any ounce of strength she possessed.

Mike’s shaky breathing and occasional sniffling was so strange. She’d almost never seen or heard him cry. Only Eleven or Will had ever affected him in such a way. With great effort, Max managed to turn her head in his direction.

“Max?” Mike questioned softly. “You can hear me, can’t you?”

Max blinked emphatically. Mike let out a breathy sob in response.

“If we manage to survive all this…maybe you, me, El, and Lucas can go on a double date. Maybe we could catch a movie or something.”

Max blinked hard again.

Mike gripped her hand.

“Do you need anything?”

Max wanted to request her collage, but she wasn’t sure she could say the word properly. She pulled her hand back from Mike’s slightly, and began to trace the letters in his palm. It seemed to take him a moment before he realized what she was doing.

“Wait, Max, start again. C…O…L…L…A…oh, your collage?”

Max blinked as hard as she could.

“You want your collage? Okay…”

Max heard rustling and shifting, and after a few moments, she felt the canvas be placed gently in her lap. At once, Max rested her palms on top of it, letting the cavalcade of textures center her. The smoothness of the shells, the jaggedness of the broaches, the softness of the cotton balls. She dragged her hands over it, searching. There was a specific thing she wanted to find, something that would make her feel safe again…

Max’s fingers brushed against one of the flannel squares, and she quickly went back to it. It wasn’t as if El didn’t come to visit her often, but Max found herself lonely without her there. Where Lucas’ presence was safe and secure, El’s was calm and true. Both were welcome in Max’s current state. Especially now that her body seemed to be in limbo. She could feel her own palms’ clamminess against the fabric. She wanted to inhale the flannel’s smell, but she couldn’t sit up enough to do so. And she couldn’t ask Mike, either. Her vocal cords barely worked. She wanted to wail aloud, to scream until her lungs cracked. But her voice wouldn’t come out.

“You like that, huh?” Mike questioned nearby. Max didn’t respond to him. She didn’t have the energy to. She just kept her hands on the flannel square, allowing it to anchor her.

El was still out there, fighting for her. And today, Max took refuge in that.

Lucas was half-considering sleeping at the hospital regularly.

His mother would barely let him leave the house anymore, and this morning she had almost succeeded by getting his father involved. They had all but blocked the front door, imploring him to stay home.

“Guys, I have to go be with Max.”

His father’s thick moustache seemed to frown along with him. “It’s not safe out there, son. We need to be together as a family.”

“Max doesn’t have any family here right now. Her mom’s in Indianapolis.”

Lucas could see his mother’s resolve starting to crumble in light of that fact.

“Charles, maybe we can bring her here so she’s not – ”

“Mom, we can’t move her. We already tried, and she got worse when we did.”

Erica’s sharp voice suddenly sounded behind them.

“I’ll go with him.”

All three of them turned toward her.

“You heard me,” Erica told them, her expression uncommonly resolute. “I’ll go, too.”

“Absolutely not,” his mother refuted. “I’m not risking both my kids’ safety.”

“I have to go,” Lucas repeated. “I have to.”

Tears sprang to his eyes, and his voice wobbled slightly.

“She’s not doing good, and…if we’re gonna lose her, I don’t want her to be alone. Please.”

His father surveyed him, looking uncertain.

“If I drive you,” he started slowly. “And it starts to look bad while you’re there…I want you to call us, and then I want you to shelter in place. Okay?”

Lucas threw his arms around his parents, who squeezed him tightly back. He knew it was an insane thing to ask of them. And he also knew that he would never forgive himself if Max died and he wasn’t there.

The ride to the hospital was mercifully short, though Lucas now noticed that the constant dark grey and red in the sky made everything look more jagged, more sinister. The buildings looked small against the mass expanse of the clouds, as if standing against a storm about to break loose. He could sense his father’s unease as they pulled into the nearly empty parking lot of the hospital.

“I’m serious, son,” his father said as they stopped at the front doors. “If you can’t come home – ”

“Call, then shelter in place. Got it.”

His father nodded, then reached forward to hug him. Lucas returned it.

This time, when he entered Max’s room, it felt different. He supposed he should plan as if he was now sheltering here. Lucas knew the cot was still here somewhere, and there had to still be food in the kitchens. Hospitals usually had preservable food stashed. And if there wasn’t food already made, he could throw something together.

Lucas let his eyes fall on Max. She was awake, surprisingly. Her head was turned in his direction, her cloudy eyes trained over his shoulder. He knew she was listening for him.

“It’s me,” Lucas murmured quietly.

Max blinked, and he watched her thin hand flop around weakly on her blankets. She wanted him to hold her hand. Lucas grabbed one of the chairs and pulled it up close to her bedside, taking her hand at once. It was clammy and bony, so fragile he was scared to break it. Max didn’t speak, but he saw a shadow of a smile cross her face, and her eyes closed. Lucas pressed a kiss to the back of her hand.

As he let his eyes wander, Lucas noticed with alarm that Max’s IV bag was empty, so empty it looked vacuum-sealed. Her food bag was almost empty too. Uneasiness filled him as he realized that Cynthia was normally the nurse who handled this. She wouldn’t have let Max’s fluid or food bags get so low. Lucas’ eyes traveled to the bag itself, examining it. If the nurses were all gone, he would have to teach himself how to change her fluid and food bags. It couldn’t be that complicated.

Lucas nearly jumped out of his skin as Max’s door swung open. It was Nancy, her arms laden with blankets and sheets. Close behind her was Lori, holding full fluid and food bags.

“Lucas, out. Take a break.” Nancy jerked her thumb over her shoulder.

Lucas scowled at her. “I just got – ”

“It’s not a request,” Lori said, joining them seconds later. “Go to an empty room and shower, then go get something to eat from the cafeteria. I’m sure you can scrounge something up. I promise you can come back once we get her showered and fed. Go.”

Realizing he was outnumbered, Lucas straightened up, albeit very begrudgingly. He leaned down toward her, and he watched her face seem to register his presence. Lucas pressed his lips gently to her forehead. She gave a little sigh, and her eyes closed.

“I’ll be back soon,” he murmured.

Max didn’t try to speak, just blinked slowly in his direction, her eyelids peeling apart as if they were stuck together. She seemed sedated, almost. Or perhaps she was just exhausted. Lucas couldn’t read her facial expression very well under the oxygen mask, and it was too vacant to give him any indication either way. Lucas knew Nancy and Lori were getting ready to forcibly remove him from the room if he didn’t leave voluntarily, so he forced himself to let go of her hand, walking past them and letting the door swing shut behind him.

Max wondered where Lucas was going.

Lucas’ footsteps trailed away, and she felt her heart pulling in his direction. She had heard others come in, but the twilight between sleep and wakefulness was muffling her hearing slightly. She didn’t care who it was. She wanted Lucas to come back. Max tried to voice her dissent, but all that came out was a thin cry. The door closed in the distance anyway.

Two pairs of footsteps slowly approached.

“Nancy, let me get a look at her before you come closer.”

Max’s heart sank. Lori. It wasn’t as if she disliked Lori. She just wasn’t Cynthia. Lori’s steps grew closer, and Max felt her draw up next to the bed.

“Max, it’s Lori.”

“Cindy,” she murmured in the direction of Lori’s voice. Her mouth felt like sandpaper, her dry tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth as her voice was muted by the oxygen mask.

“Hang on, let me get that thing off you. I’m getting some water in you today.”

The mask lifted from her face and Max felt cool air on her cheeks where the edges of the mask had no doubt made indents in her skin. She felt mostly able to take in air without it on. At least, for now.

“Cindy,” she managed again, faintly.

Lori didn’t answer right away, and Max could hear her perturbed muttering as buttons clicked and tubes were adjusted. After several moments of this, Max felt the end of her bed sink a little, and she realized Lori had sat down. When she spoke, her voice had lost its irritation.

“I don’t know where Cindy is, kiddo. Nobody does.”

Max felt her eyes start to well up. Cynthia had become as important to her as any of her friends or family. Not having Cynthia here made Max feel as if she’d been blinded all over again – a vital part of herself now missing, and the hospital room was once again unfamiliar and terrifying.

Lori sat in silence on the bed with her, and Max wondered if she didn’t know what to say. Lori didn’t strike her as the kind to fill Max’s head with false promises and shallow sentiments, and so remaining silent might have been the kindest option.

Lori finally spoke again after a few more moments.

“I’m going to lift your bed up a little so I can get a better look at you, okay?”

The bar behind the head of the bed clanged beneath her, and Max felt her upper body rising, felt the bed tilt upward. Her head swam and her stomach churned with the movement.

“I’m going to touch your arm,” Lori warned her, and Max felt her roughened palm close around her elbow, lifting it slightly.

“Christ. Whoever put in this IV bruised you pretty good. Stacey never was good at placing them…”

Lori clucked her tongue in disapproval as she lay Max’s arm back down on the bed.

“My god, Miss Mayfield, your IV bag is sucked dry. Hasn’t anyone come to check on you?”

Truthfully, Max wasn’t sure. If another nurse had been there, this Stacey or someone else, she didn’t remember them, nor could she place them in her mind.

“Okay. Before we do anything else, you’re drinking some water. Nancy, could you give me a hand?”

It took some jostling, but Max soon felt Nancy’s hand on the back of her head, raising it up a little.

“Okay, Max, I’m going to put the straw near your mouth, and I want you to drink.”

Max felt the plastic touch her lips, and her mouth closed around it. She sucked the cold water through the straw, hearing the slight clicking of ice cubes all clustering against each other. Swallowing felt scary, but she managed to do it. The cold water felt so good on her dry throat, and she found herself drinking with more vigor.

“Good girl. Not too fast, not too fast…” Lori told her, but Max couldn’t help it. She hadn’t realized she was so thirsty.

Nancy’s calm and encouraging voice sounded from next to her. “Good job.”

“The fact she can still swallow is a good thing,” Lori murmured, as Max drank the last bit of water through the straw. “Best we could hope for.”

Once there was only ice in the cup, Lori told Nancy to take the cup to the kitchen and put it in the freezer to preserve the ice. If Max couldn’t swallow later, she said, then they could have her suck on ice cubes.

As Nancy’s footsteps trailed away, Lori’s hand slid down, and Max felt calloused fingers press to her wrist.

“Pulse uneven,” she said. “Your skin’s clammy, and you’re white as a sheet. Can you tell me how you feel?”

Before Max could respond, nausea rose up within her like poison, and within seconds she’d vomited up the water she’d drank down the front of her gown.

“Oh, now,” Lori muttered, and Max felt her stand up. “Come on, let’s get you to the shower. You’re looking a little grubby anyway. Can you walk?”

Max went to lift her legs, to get them moving. In horror, she found that they wouldn’t. Not well enough to walk, anyway. They weighed more than she had the strength to move them. Her eyes filled with tears.

“No,” she gulped.

Lori’s voice had grown soft. “I can get you there, Max. It’s all right.”

Nancy’s quick footsteps soon rejoined them, and they stopped short.

“Is she okay?”

“She threw up. I’m getting her in the shower.”

Max heard Nancy approach the bed and exhale sadly. Presumably at the sight of her. Max couldn’t conceptualize how she must look – pale and ill, with vomit on her gown – but she certainly felt unkempt after the fact.

“I could use your help,” Lori offered from next to her. “She might feel safer with you there.”

“Of course,” Nancy assented. “What can I do?”

“I’ll get her in there, if you can grab our supplies. Soap, shampoo, towels, washcloths. In the linen closet down the hall. Grab new sheets and pillowcases too. We’ll need them later.”

Nancy’s footsteps became distant again as she left the room. Max felt the rush of air as her covers were removed from her legs. She heard things being disconnected, wires being pulled, buttons being pressed…her oxygen mask lifted from her face, her IV and electrodes detached, her feeding tube clamped off. Max then felt Lori draw close, the fabric of Lori’s scrubs brushing against her skin.

“Here we go. Just hang onto me.”

Max couldn’t keep herself from crying as Lori lifted her up. Her body was giving up on her, and she could do nothing but succumb to it. Her head rested on Lori’s shoulder as they moved across the room. She wished it was Cindy carrying her. Or her mother. She ached for them both.

Max felt the air change as they entered the bathroom, and she heard Nancy re-enter the room nearby. Lori deposited her into the shower chair, removing her hospital gown. Without Lori to lean against, Max felt herself start to droop slowly in the chair, unable to hold up her head, her naked body sinking into itself like melting putty.

“Shit,” Lori muttered, and in one quick motion, she had grabbed Max and slid in behind her on the chair. Her body was warm, a welcome comfort against the chilliness of being bare.

“I’m fat, so I’m not sure how long this chair will hold us both,” Lori noted. “But we’ll do our best. Nancy?”

Max caught a whiff of Nancy’s perfume as she re-joined them. Lori reached over her and Max heard the squeak of the faucet as the hiss of water rained over her. Max whimpered. The droplets of water felt like coarse pebbles against her paper-thin skin.

“Hang on, hang on…” Lori was saying. “It should warm up soon.”

Sure enough, the water began to run warm after a few minutes. It was a balm for her frail body, a temperate embrace. Max let herself be supported by Lori, leaning her head back on her nurse’s shoulder. At least, if her body was weak, it was in the presence of people who helped make her strong.

“Nancy, if you’d like to shampoo her hair, I can use the soap.”

Max felt the smooth bar of soap start to rub across her skin. She heard the squeeze of a bottle, felt the cold glob of shampoo in the middle of her scalp. Nancy’s familiarly slender hands massaged through her wet hair, bunching it into foam. She noticed that Lori’s scrubs were wet against her back, and it occurred to Max that Lori and presumably Nancy were fully clothed. But she didn’t have the energy to feel guilty about it.

Lori spoke into her ear.

“I’m not soaping up any sensitive areas, okay? We’re just getting your back, arms, face, and hair.”

Max made a noise in assent, and they continued washing her.

“Nancy, please grab me a washcloth – yes, thank you. If you want to get the pitcher over there, you can rinse her hair.”

“Bow your head, Max,” Nancy murmured.

Max followed suit, closing her eyes at the feeling of warm water flowing through her soapy hair, turning it smooth and long and heavy. She felt Lori rubbing the washcloth over her back and shoulders, and Max felt the sensation of weeks of stink, weeks of stagnation and vomit and blood shed from her like skin, revealing fresh newness underneath. Nancy wrung out Max’s wet hair, and gently adjusted her so she was once more leaning back against Lori. The washcloth then travelled to her arms, and she let herself be calmed by its soft, repetitive motion.

Lori broke into her thoughts several moments later.

“All right, Max. Let’s wrap up and get you dry, hmm?”

Max felt Lori reach forward past her. The shower squeaked off, and then Max was sitting against Lori’s wet shirt, already violently shivering in the chilly air. It seemed there wasn’t much between her skin and bones anymore.

“Nancy? A towel, please?”

The bristly towel soon met Max’s skin, and she sputtered a little as Lori wiped her face.

“You’re all right, you’re all right,” her nurse muttered a little gruffly, though the towel’s rubbing lessened slightly. “Lean forward a little.”

Max did so, and she felt a towel rest over her back and shoulders. Lori pulled her wet hair out of it, letting it hang over Max’s shoulder. Max could feel how long it had gotten as it tickled her stomach.

“Nancy, can you change her bedding, please? Thank you. We’ll finish up in here.”

As Nancy left, they sat there for a moment, Lori dabbing Max’s face with a corner of the fabric.

“That boy of yours can’t stay away, can he?”

Max didn’t reply. In truth, she was now ready for this to be done so he could come back. She managed a slight jerk of her head. Lori said no more about it, but continued to dry Max off.

Lucas’ earnest face floated lazily through her mind. She didn’t have much to give him right now, this was true, but Max would be happy just to be in his warm, strong arms today. To feel the safety she always felt in them. If she asked for Lucas just to hold her, she knew he would jump at the chance, and then she could forget about everything. Forget her failing body, the damnation of Hawkins, her fear of losing anyone else. Her fear of losing everyone else. Maybe if she just held onto Lucas, she thought, she could keep him safe too.

Nancy called from the door of her room.

“Her bed’s ready, Lori.”

“Wonderful,” said Lori, and she got up from behind Max, one hand on Max’s shoulder to keep her upright. “Come on, kiddo.”

She scooped Max up, and Max looped her arms around Lori’s neck. As Lori carried her back into the room, Max could hear the rustle of blankets being drawn back.

“Max, I’ve changed the sheets and pillowcases, okay? Everything’s new and clean.”

“Pink,” Max gulped out, all at once anxious.

“That pink pillowcase is from home, I know,” Nancy reassured her. “It’s okay, Max, I left it there. Lori, here’s her change of clothes.”

Max felt Lori nod. “Max, I’m going to set you on the bed, and we’ll get dressed. Nancy, if you would take the linens to the laundry room, that would be great. And then go find wherever Lucas ended up. I’m sure he’s pining to get back in here.”

Lori sat Max on the bed, and she could feel the crispness of the new sheets beneath her, could smell how clean they were. Lori’s hand remained firmly on her back as she pressed a soft shirt into Max’s hand.

“Can you dress yourself, or do you need help?”

“My…self,” Max told her. Her muscles were still weak, but she was able to slowly slide an arm through a sleeve. It took her a few minutes to get the other one through. Once the shirt was on, she felt Lori put the towel on her head, and start to rub her hair with it.

The rest passed with almost no consequence. Lori had Max lie down, lift her hips so Lori could put underwear and smooth pants on. Then Lori adjusted her to where she was lying against her pillows, which also smelled fresh and new save for her pink pillowcase, which – to Max’s relief – still held whispers of home.

“There we go,” Lori pulled the blankets over Max. “I’ll wait here with you until Nancy gets back with Lucas. In the meantime, let’s get your oxygen back on.”

As Max felt the oxygen mask cover her mouth and nose, Lori started speaking again.

“I don’t want to scare you, Max. But it’s not looking good out there. The clouds are just black now, with red lightning. And everything feels…strange. Like we’re all sinking into the ground.”

Max wasn’t sure what to tell her. She knew why everything was going to shit, of course, but she wasn’t sure Lori would believe her.

From underneath the mask, Max tried to speak.

“Dan…ger,” she managed.

Lori laughed humorlessly.

“I think we’re all in danger. This place is getting emptier by the day. Patients and staff. My last few shifts, fewer and fewer people have shown up. And patients are disappearing. Just like you. Except we brought you back, because home isn’t safe for you. Not many places are safe anymore, Max. And to be honest, I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be around.”

Max’s hand opened, grasping in Lori’s direction. She wanted to hold onto Lori, to keep her from slipping away too.

“No,” she said, her voice small and broken.

Lori gave another dry chuckle, but Max felt Lori’s weathered hand slip into hers.

“I’d miss you too, kiddo.”

Lori let go of her hand after a moment, and Max jumped as she heard the clacking of her cassette tapes on the tray table nearby.

“You’ve got good taste,” Lori observed, a smile in her voice. “Fleetwood Mac, Bowie, Siouxsie…very eclectic.”

There was a quiet rustle of fabric.

“I noticed you like music, so I brought you a few of my own tapes. They’re a little heavier and louder than your other ones here, but you might still like them. I brought you AC/DC, the Stones…”

Max felt a single tape press into her hand.

“But this one…this one’s from my personal collection. Metallica. You know them?”

“No.”

“The song is called ‘One,’ and it’s the only one on the tape. The corner has a chip in it, which should make it easy for you to find. And trust me, you’re going to want to find it again. I think you’ll want to hear it more than once.”

Max’s finger pressed against the notch in the tape cover, unsure of how to respond as she rubbed the jagged edge. The sudden kindness of the gesture had momentarily silenced her. The door creaked open nearby, and Max heard both Nancy and Lucas’ footsteps against the linoleum.

“Thank…you,” Max told Lori finally, as Nancy and Lucas drew closer.

“No need to thank me. Just rest. Lucas and Nancy are here now, so I’m going to go ahead and change your fluid and food bags. Then I’ll come back to check on you in a little while.”

Max heard Lucas’ shaky breath as he sat back down.

“I’m back. I’m here.”

Max reached up and touched her ear.

“Music? You want music?”

Max blinked at him.

“Okay. Yes. Which tape?”

Max raised up the cassette tape she was holding in her other hand.

“Oh, I didn’t see you had one in your hand. Is that the one you want?”

Max blinked, as hard as she could.

“If I put the Walkman in your hand, can you take it from there?”

Max blinked again. She felt the Walkman press gently into her palms. Max rested her fingers against the buttons, and with some effort clicked the button to open the Walkman’s door. Her hands were shaking, and as she tried to get the tape into the Walkman, she could hear it clacking against the plastic.

Nancy’s voice sounded, exceedingly gentle.

“Do you want help?”

No, Max wanted to say, but this once simple task was turning out to be more arduous than usual. Her hands had such bad tremors that she was scared the Walkman was going to slip out of her grasp.

She jumped a little as Lucas’ rough hand rested over hers, steadying her grip on the Walkman. His other hand took the tape, and Max heard it click into place, the Walkman door clasping shut. A button clicked, and the tape started to rewind.

“There we go. All done. Let me grab your headphones.”

“My…self,” Max croaked.

“I’m just putting them in your hands. That’s it.”

After a few minutes, Max was able to clumsily lift her headphones to her ears. Once her hand was curled around the Walkman again, she could remember where the buttons were. Max waited for the whirring tape’s abrupt halt, signaling it was done rewinding. Once the rewinding finally stopped, Max found the play button and clicked it.

The song began with gunshots. People yelling. A cacophony of war and suffering, until it started to fade. A few electric guitar notes began to strum, sounding grim, almost wistful. Then more notes, until the lead singer started to intone:

I can’t remember anything

Can’t tell if this is true or a dream

Deep down inside I feel the scream

This terrible silence stops me

Now that the war is through with me

I’m waking up, I cannot see

That there’s not much left of me

Nothing is real but pain now

Hold my breath as I wish for death,

Oh please, God, wake me.

Max hadn’t realized she was crying until she felt the hot tears catch on the oxygen mask, felt them slip down toward the feeding tube in her nose. Whomever had written this song had known of the dark recesses that were now her living place. As if this song had been written for her, and only her. She felt Lucas take her hand again. She was sure he must be saying words of comfort, but she couldn’t make them out over the guitar, which grew heavier and angrier.

After the guitar’s strumming increased into a staccato rhythm, the singer started again:

Darkness, imprisoning me

All that I see, absolute horror

I cannot live, I cannot die

Trapped in myself, body my holding cell

Landmine has taken my sight

Taken my speech, taken my hearing

Taken my arms, taken my legs

Taken my soul, left me with life in hell

Max wanted to wail with anguish at this as the cruel truth was brought into focus for her once again: her broken body was indeed her holding cell, and all the work she’d done to be free was crumbling away. It was as if Max could feel her own muscles deteriorating, her own bones disintegrating.

The electric guitar continued to grind, louder and more frenzied, and Max lay still, feeling the song cascade over her, feeling the raw emotion plow through her like a train.

And then, the song was done.

A ringing quiet echoed in Max’s ears. Aside from Lucas’ breathing, she could hear only the buzz of the fluorescent lighting, the rumble from outside, the hiss from her oxygen, the beep of the heart monitor. Her hand was still grasped securely in Lucas’, his other hand resting over it. She pulled his hand toward her. Lucas hesitated, seeming unsure of what she wanted.

Max tugged his hand toward her again, and Lucas finally seemed to key in. His footsteps circled her bed, and she felt the covers pull back as Lucas climbed into bed with her. Slowly, Max turned her body toward his, and she felt Lucas’ arms surround her. She gave a little whine of frustration as her headphones started to slip off her ears.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Lucas murmured, readjusting them. It wasn’t just that. Max wanted to sink into him as much as she could, but her oxygen mask and electrodes were making this difficult. Max didn’t get the sense he understood the depth of her chagrin, but he at least knew she needed him in that moment. Eventually, they reached a comfortable position: Lucas’ arms enveloping Max as she lay her head on his arm, her eyes closing. Lucas’ cheek pressed against her head, his hand rubbing over her back.

Max’s finger slowly found the rewind button on her Walkman.

After a few moments, she clicked it.

Max’s head was splitting, screws drilling into her skull. 

The memories didn’t make sense today. It was as if Max couldn’t form a cohesive one. Sights and sounds mixed together, garbled and unintelligible. Lucas’ calm, deep voice amid a thunderstorm. Her drunk mother wobbling around at Starcourt. Even El’s own voice, crying out for Max, while the Mind Flayer tore open Hopper’s cabin roof. The pain in her head grew worse, and Max’s knees buckled.

The floor in the void – if you could even call it that – brought her no reprieve. As Max stared into the blackness, lying crumpled in the moisture-less water, she was terrified to discover she could taste blood in her mouth. Every muscle clenched, every nerve was on fire. It was nigh unbearable, and she didn’t know how to make it stop.

“Max?” El’s concerned voice wandered in, but Max wasn’t sure if it was the El here with her or the one floating across her memories. She was immobilized by pain, frozen in agony. El’s hand on her arm confirmed her presence.

“I hurt all over,” Max managed.

“I know. I’m sorry.” El wrapped her arms around Max. She was crying. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Max didn’t have it in her to cry too. “How many more memories before we break through, El? I can’t do this much longer.”

“I know,” El repeated. “We have to try again. Please.”

El came around in front of Max, holding out her hands. Max took them, and El helped her sit up. It didn’t feel good, and Max didn’t want to, but she willed herself to try. She looked at Eleven, now eye level with her.

“My body in the real world. It’s not good, is it?”

Eleven seemed hesitant to give an answer.

“We are running out of time,” she stated finally, and Max sensed this was the most positive light in which she could frame their situation. “Your body is weak. You are sleeping more, and talking less. Machines and wires keep you alive.”

That made sense. Max felt more awful in here by the day. El prattled on.

“You have your collage. You like to hold it in your lap sometimes. Lucas is there every day, for hours and hours. Nancy helps when the nurse gives you showers. Robin used to bring Braille books, but now she just sits with you and doesn’t talk. Erica will read to you, sometimes. Or braid your hair. She is teaching Lucas how. And the rest of the boys visit, more and more now. Steve drives them. Sometimes they talk, and sometimes they just sit.” 

“Wait,” Max’s brows furrowed. “Braille?”

Eleven stopped short, and the stricken look on her face unsettled Max.

“El, what’s wrong with my eyes?”

El stammered, her eyes filling with tears again.

“I – I – ”

“El, if something’s wrong, you have to tell me,” Max implored, truly worried now. “Please.”

She could tell Eleven was struggling to get the words out, and every second that passed made the gnawing worry in her stomach only intensify. The ache in her muscles started to increase.

“You – ” El choked, then started again. “You can’t see.”

Something cold flopped over inside Max.

“So my eyes are damaged?”

“When Vecna…” El gestured around her own face. “He didn’t take your eyes. Not all the way.”

Maybe El wasn’t saying what Max had thought she was saying.

“They’ll get better, then, right?”

Eleven was unabashedly weeping now.

“No,” she barely whispered. “You are blind.”

A stone – a boulder – dropped into Max’s stomach.

Her veins flooded with ice.

No.

She grappled vainly for comfort. “But…there has to be something they can do. If and when I get out of here, my sight should come back. Right?”

Eleven was sobbing profusely into her hands.

“They told Lucas that your vision will never return.”

The ugly truth was cornering Max, sinking its claws into her, trapping her in the inevitable bleakness. An added twist of the knife was knowing that Lucas already knew. Because that meant he was still by her side, even after the fact. And she’d never see his face again.

 Max could feel a dark beast of anger start to wake deep within her. Her breathing grew harsh, her hands curling into fists…

She chuckled. Then started to snicker. And then a heinous cackle broke free from her, one that she herself didn’t recognize. Her chest shuddered with her laughter, pain shooting across it.

“Well, that figures,” she said, a horrible heartiness to her voice. “Everything else in my life has gone tragically wrong, so what’s one more thing? Of course my fucking eyesight’s the next thing to go!”

Eleven looked up from her hands, her wet face shocked. Max let out another derisive crow of laughter.

“Life is really something, huh? For so long, for so long…I had nothing to look forward to. Nothing to hope for. My life was only night. And then I got moved to Hawkins, where I could finally see the sun. And now, to top it off, my friends are the only thing giving me any hope for escaping this shithole, and now I’ll never see any of you again. Life just couldn’t resist another chance to fuck me over, could it?”

El looked terrified, stunned into silence. Max felt a rush of fury at her expression.

“Go home, Eleven. Go back to our friends, and leave me here to rot. It’s what I deserve anyway.”

Eleven finally spoke, her quivering voice indignant.

“No.”

“El…” Max closed her eyes, trying not to think about how she’d never see El’s face again either. “Just. Go.”

“No!” Eleven cried, and she moved closer to Max, reaching out for her hand. “No, Max, I won’t let you –”

“You don’t get it!” Max shot back. “You’ll never understand what it’s like to be me. To hear, your entire life, that things will get better, that good will always win. And it’s all bullshit. This world is bullshit, and the people in it are bullshit. For any hope I’ve gained, darkness always snuffs it out, and I’m tired.” Tears started to fill her eyes before she could stop them. “I’m tired. And I’m done. With all of it.”

“You are not!” El’s voice was growing louder. “I am fighting for you! We are all fighting for you! Lucas is fighting for you!”

Lucas’ earnest face floated across her mind, and Max’s insides writhed in agony. She couldn’t bear to look at Eleven anymore. She turned away, the dark ripples billowing out underneath her, and pulled her knees up to her chest.

“You should have just let me die,” she said, in a tone of voice that even she hated.

El seemed lost for words. Max knew she was hurting her best friend. It only made her despise herself more.

She buried her face in her jeans, pulled her legs closer. Her voice was tiny. “Please. Just go.”

As a ringing silence fell, Max’s shoulders started to shake, knowing that her best friend had honored her wish.

Eleven was gone.

And Max hated herself for it.

Lucas wasn’t sure if he liked sheltering in place or not.

He had already called his father to let him know he was staying over. Lucas supposed it was nice to sleep in a different bed for a change, though it wasn’t the most comfortable. He’d never get used to the smell, either. That too-clean smell, with the faint tinge of decay. He tried not to think about the last occupant of this bed, and whether that person had made it out alive. When he had arrived, the bed had been stripped, so he had no way of knowing.

As Lucas lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, he held Max’s letter to his chest. He hadn’t tried to re-read it for fear of breaking down completely. He’d barely pulled it together enough to peel himself off the floor the other day. You can’t fall apart right now, he thought to himself. Max needs you. Be strong.

He was startled to hear the sliding door down the hall open, followed by multiple footsteps. As the footsteps drew closer, he could hear hushed voices, growing louder with urgency.

“What did she see? Mike, what’s going on?”

“El, slow down. El!”

Lucas sat up at once, tossing the letter onto his bed as he bolted toward the door. As he entered the hallway, he saw Nancy and Robin skitter anxiously into Max’s room. He felt his feet carry him forward until he himself reached the doorway. Once he entered, he saw that Mike, Jonathan, Steve, Dustin, and Will were also there. El was laid out over Max, her forehead pressed to Max’s chest. She turned her face toward them, and as Lucas approached the bed, he noticed she wasn’t crying. Her eyes were pits of despair.

“Max sent me away,” Eleven whispered to him.

“What happened? What do you mean?”

“I went in to see her. She was in pain. She asked about her body out here, and I told her about her eyes.”

Lucas would have thought El would cry while relaying this, but she remained listlessly sad.

“She was so angry, and she said ‘you should have just let me die.’”

From behind him, Lucas felt the concerned and anxious reactions of his friends ripple through the room. But the expression he shared with El only belonged to them. They had now stepped off the cliff, and with no guarantee that they wouldn’t be diced to pieces on the rocks below. All that was left to know was whether Max could find it in her to survive. And right now…the prospects didn’t look good.

Lucas turned toward the rest of the group. He didn’t know how to temper their facial expressions. Dustin looked devastated, and Lucas could see shades of Eddie in his eyes. Mike had a similar look on his face. Robin promptly burst into tears, and Steve put his arm around her, looking miserable. Nancy stared at the floor, her own eyes brimming as she rubbed Robin’s shoulder. Jonathan held her hand, his face grave. Will was crying too, and he rested his hand on El’s back, tears falling quietly onto the bed.

With all the strength he had left, Lucas finally said “El has to visit one more memory with her.”

His friends’ expressions went from sorrowful to incredulous.

“Lucas, there’s no way,” Nancy asserted in disbelief. “It’ll kill her. Permanently this time.”

Robin turned and left the room, still sobbing profusely. Steve followed her, and Lucas heard them walk down the hallway together.

“Why does El need to visit another one of her memories?” Dustin demanded, and Lucas could tell he was trying to keep his voice from wavering. “Why do we have to put her through that again?”

“Because it’s our last chance to save her life.”

“While also running the risk of ending her life!”

Mike numbly crossed the room toward El, reaching down and rubbing her back as she buried her face in Max’s hospital gown.

Lucas was now trying to keep his own voice from wavering.

“The last time we did this, we think she was in there for a moment. When she…freaked out. We have to give it one more shot.”

Dustin shook his head, looking unconvinced.

“We should have Lori with us,” Nancy suggested quietly. “When we do this, I mean.”

Lucas looked at her. She didn’t seem overly convinced either, but as she met his gaze, he saw acceptance of their situation. Of the looming task ahead. Nancy’s eyes then fell on Max’s pale, still face.

“Lori should be there to monitor her. Watch her vital signs, give medications if needed, et cetera. That way, if something happens…” Her voice trembled a little. “Lori will know what to do.”

It felt like they were planning Max’s funeral. Numbness, bleakness, a resignation to the end. Lucas willed himself to remain composed. He couldn’t break down right now. Max needed him to be strong.

“We’ll have to do it soon, so you should probably find a bed here tonight. Plenty down the hall. We’ll scrounge up whatever food we can find in the kitchens. And tomorrow...go time.”

“Go get Steve and Robin,” Nancy murmured to Jonathan. “They’ll want to stay over too.”

Jonathan turned and walked through the doorway wordlessly.

“Someone needs to go get Erica when they can,” Lucas asserted to Nancy. “She’ll want to be here. But you’ll have to sneak her out. My parents will never let her go.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Nancy reassured him.

Lucas rounded on El, Mike, and Will.

“Go get some sleep,” he told them. “I’ll stay here.”

After some gentle coaxing, Will was able to convince Eleven to detach herself from Max. An arm around her, Will guided her out of the room, presumably to find her a bed down the hall. Mike didn’t move.

“Aren’t you going too?” Lucas questioned him.

Mike shook his head.

“No,” he said distantly. “I just wanna sit here for a moment.”

He walked around to the other side of the bed, letting himself fall into the chair. Mike too seemed out of tears to cry as he stared vacantly at Max.

Nancy approached the bed, her pretty hand brushing some hair back from Max’s forehead. She leaned down and pressed her lips to the clammy, pale skin.

“We’re here,” she whispered, and then sobs took hold of her. She promptly left the room, a hand over her mouth.

Lucas sank down into the chair opposite Mike. He didn’t have the strength to work up any more emotion. He was moving robotically, dazedly, numb with grief. Surrendering to the despair of it. As Lucas let his gaze flit toward his friend, he noticed with mixed warmth and sorrow that Mike’s eyes were now glassy with unshed tears. Only El or Will ever made Mike cry. As the unbearable silence sat between them – broken only by Max’s faint breathing – Mike stared bleakly at Max.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice shaking. “God, I’m sorry.”

Lucas focused his attention on pulling Max’s blankets over her more securely. He was trying to drink in her presence – what little there was left of it – while he still could. Trying to imprint her face into his memory, clinging to the feel of her skin against his.

He took Max’s hand, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles.

“Max,” he whispered. “I know you’re still in there. Somewhere.”

Lucas took a deep breath, gearing himself up.

“I know it’s all been so hard for you. For so long. And I know I can’t fix anything. Even though I want to.”

He rubbed her arm, still clenching her hand in his.

“I just want you to know…” Sobs choked him, and he struggled to keep going. “If you need to go, you can go.”

Saying these words was, without a doubt, the hardest thing he’d ever done. But they were here. Lucas leaned toward her, kissing whatever of her cheek wasn’t obscured by the oxygen mask.

“You can let go, Max…” He swallowed another sob. “I love you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He cradled her still face in his hands, pressing kisses to her forehead. He didn’t care that Mike was sitting there. Mike must understand how Lucas felt. To have the person you love most in the world constantly slipping through your fingers, out of reach. Only this time felt like the final time.

“Lucas?” Mike’s tired, cracked voice almost startled him.

“Hm?”

“There’s something in her hand,” Mike muttered, frowning.

Lucas’ brows knit. “Huh?”

Mike beckoned him over. Lucas circled the bed, drawing up on Mike’s side to see what he was looking at. Max’s hand lay palm down on the bed, and underneath it, Lucas could see slivers of yellow and black. He reached out, lifting her wrist slightly, and he realized it was a square of fabric, patterned yellow and gray plaid. The edges were frayed, bits of the yarn tattered, like it had been torn from something.

Lucas realized at once where he had seen it before.

“It’s from her collage.”

He stood up, walking over to where the collage rested against the opposite wall. He could now see, towards the middle, a glob of dried glue, strands of the fabric stuck to it. As he peered closer, Lucas could also see lines dragging down toward the glue. As if Max had needed to scratch at the poster board to get the flannel square off. The same flannel square that now lay on the bed next to her.

“She had her collage yesterday when I left,” Mike told him as Lucas rejoined them.

Emotion flooded Lucas as he gazed down at Max. It was as if she’d sought out the flannel herself – that piece of El – and then resolved to hold onto it. As if clinging to the tread by which her life was now suspended.

Max hadn’t given up yet.

So neither would he.